Fear of Violence
by Leki
Summary: Sammy had started having visions since he was five. At first, he'd told his brother and dad about them. John had eventually ignore them. Dean cared, but Sam realized that they scared Dean and made him angry. So, he stopped mostly talking about them. Then, an especially scary vision hits him, he he stops talking about the visions completely.
1. Fear of Violence

Fear of Violence

Note ~ Sam is 12, Dean is 16.

Sam's stomach was clenching as he struggled not to yelp. He was laying on one of the beds in the hotel, and trying not to be nauseous. He tried really hard to focus on the flashing neon sign outside their room. The cheap curtain just didn't keep the light out, but right now Sam was thankful he had it to focus on. Sam had just woken up, immediately stricken by flashes of violence. John was cutting through a ghoul's neck. Dean chopping through a vampire's shoulder. Disabled and down, John lopping off it's head. Blood was plentiful, but Sammy mostly saw it as a black ooze that spilled on the branches, grass and dirt. For some reason, most of his visions were in gray scale, especially when there was violence or immense emotions. Lately, all his flashes of his father and brother seemed to be intense.

John's expression scared him. It was a weary, tired of this world's bullshit expression. It was really hard looking, and cold. What really scared him was that Dean's expression was starting to mimic their father's. He had always seemed macho and in control, even when he wasn't really, but he had never seemed cold. The older Dean go the more stoic that expression got. It made Sam want to scream at him, beg him to stay away from the hunts. He wanted to lay down and temper tantrum, but he knew that wouldn't work. Besides, both would just look at him with disapproval. Neither believed in coddling or letting their emotions free.

Sam rubbed his face, opening and closing his mouth. His mouth was dry and gummy and had a nasty taste in it. The waking panic had really shaken him up, and he could feel one of those headaches coming up. Lately, they'd been turning into migraines. He looked discreetly to make sure his brother wasn't there, and sure enough he wasn't. He was out on another mission. Ever since his brother had started to get some real muscle on him, he'd been babysitting Sam less and less and going on hunts more and more.

Sure that Dean wasn't there to ask him what was wrong, Sam dashed for the bathroom, banging open the door so hard it left a hole in the cheap plaster. He dropped next to the toilet and started to vomit. Between hurling, he pressed his palms against his burning eyes and started sobbing. The sobbing brought on more vomiting, and he knelt their miserably.

The anger was too much. It wasn't enough that he had to see it in them every time they came back to their temporary home. He had to see it in the flashs he'd been getting since he was five. Thank God, when he was younger, John had just thought Sammy's crying and asking about screaming and weapons had just been real nightmares. He'd chalked it up to being about Mary or something recent that had attacked them. Ignore the fact that Sammy really didn't see that much, since Dean sheltered him. John was just like that, he didn't really take notice of facts about his son's welfare. He mostly just remembered hunter facts.

Sam covered his face as the puking stopped slowly. Sam tried not to let the fear cripple him. He needed to get up and brush his teeth. He needed to feed himself since Dean wasn't there. He got up and did just that, and then went to his own bed. Dean had stuffed all of his own food under there, even leaving some of the jerky that Dean prized . Sam smiled sadly, missing his brother so much he started to cry. Before they had left, Dean had put up such a fight that they hadn't left immediately. Dean had known the money John had left wouldn't be enough, and so he had went out and stolen a bunch of stuff for him. He had always tried to keep the fact that he stole away from Sam, but Sam had just realized it one day when Dean came back from the "store" with a bruise on his face and a broken finger.

He slowly fed himself even though he wasn't hungry. He tried not to think of the violence. He tried not to think about how happy he had been that they weren't here to witness him waking up gagging and gasping, about to scream. He didn't want them to know how different he was. He wondered how much Dean knew. Dean had basically raised him. After he had started being able to understand the flashes in his head when he was five, he had cried a lot because he had been scared of them. It had perplexed Dean, and worried him. Dean had thought his baby brother had been getting really ill or was growing up to be retarded or something else weird. After about two years, Sam had realized it wasn't normal and had kept really quiet. It wasn't until he was even older than that, that Sam had realized Dean must have really panicked. Dean had probably thought he'd hurt his brother somehow, or he was traumatized, or it was something genetic that just hadn't shown yet. Dean had already had pressure on himself. The fear of having a mentally handicapped brother must have really freaked him out for awhile.

Sam sat and stroked his hair as Dean had done when they were little. He was trying to be positive, but couldn't. He kept remembering the time he'd realized that his reactions were not normal. He'd been nine. Maybe he hadn't really had anything to compare himself to before, and it had taken this even to make him realize it. He'd stayed at a friend's house for once. It had been on a particularly long hunt, a month. Definitely the longest they'd ever stayed somewhere. He'd made a friend, AJ, at the school he was enrolled in. He'd had to beg for a week for John to let him go, calling him every night on the telephone. At the end of it, John had said yes. Long story short, they'd had a really great time until it had been bedtime. Sam was laying on the ground in the living room, with like five other boys. AJ was beside him.

Sam had fallen asleep, but had woken up screaming his head off. AJ had just about peed on himself, as did the other boys. They all stared wide eyed at him as he sat up, still yelling. When he saw them staring, he managed to stifle it down and he had covered his face as he tried to stop the tears. Conrad and Marjorie, AJ's parents, had come bursting in. When they saw Sam sitting by himself crying, they had both come and knelt beside him. Marjorie had touched his hair and Conrad had stroked his back, asking him what was wrong.

He couldn't tell them that he had seen his brother a little older and swinging a hatchet toward's Sammy's face. He was shuddering, and he couldn't calm down, and he had asked them to call his dad. They had, but John hadn't shown up. Dean had showed up at the door with a big fake smile on his face. At first, Conrad had been worried about letting them go out into the dark alone, but Dean just shrugged it off and said that Dad was getting gas up the street. He'd asked Dean to go get Sammy while he booked their new motel. Conrad had barely just let them go.

Dean and Sammy had walked up the street, and hopped into the Impala. Of course John wasn't there. Dean was thirteen at the time and already used to driving. John often let him drive since their travel destinations were long. Whenever they got caught, John just smiled and said he was teaching his boys how to drive. Dean did a U-turn and headed towards a back road to the motel so no cops would stop him. He may have been good at driving, but he obviously didn't look old enough.

"Was it a nightmare Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. It's okay now though." Sam said, and didn't explain anymore. He really hadn't been telling Dean about the visions for the past two years since that never seemed to help. Now he had a new reason. Fear. He knew his nightmarish visions were real. He seemed to have them before dad or Dean went on a hunt, and the vision was always of them inflicting pain. Several times he had seen one or the other get severely hurt, and those nights were the nights were Sammy couldn't seem to quit screaming. One particularly gruesome nightmare, he would always remember. Seeing a gash open up on Dean's young chest one night had kept him awake for three days. John and Dean had gone under somewhere with no reception, and he hadn't been able to get a hold of them. For those three days, Sammy found a terror he had never known. He thought he was once and for all orphaned. When they had gotten back and Sammy had seen the cut on his chest, Sammy had started sobbing so hard that he had thought he would pass out. He didn't think Dean would make it home, and had expected John to come back, saying he had buried Dean in the woods, or burnt his body.

He had clung to Dean so hard, and screamed so much that Dean ignored John and got in the Impala to take himself to the ER, to calm Sammy. Between Dean's resolution and Sammy's screams John had reluctantly opened the door and told Dean to scoot over. Sammy got in the car, and then they went to the ER.

The gash hadn't really been that deep, but Sammy could never forget seeing it open up on his skin, the blood gushing down. He could never forget the thick, black stitches that puckered Dean's skin for weeks. He couldn't forget the scar and the nightmare attached to it.

Those violent, pain filled nightmares had made him start clamming up about them. Since he'd started having them when he was five, he'd pretty much stopped talking by the time he was seven. Although, when he was really bothered he always sat and talked to Dean about it. Most of the time Dean was silent, although he tried to ask questions. A lot of the time, Dean had to do that thing he did when he got mad. He took a walk. He always came back, and always asked if Sammy was okay now, but Sammy quickly realized the nightmares made Dean angry. If that hadn't stopped him talking about it, his sleepover nightmare had definitely put an end to the talking.

The hatchet was Dean's, in this vision. A present from John. It was a handy little thing. It was a good size for the younger Dean since he couldn't wield an ax. Besides defense, it helped with a lot of things. Sammy didn't know why he was swinging it at his head, but he did know that all of his visions came true. So far, he'd never had a vision that didn't come true in a week. For several days and nights, Sammy remained stressed out. He couldn't figure out why his brother was going to kill him.

Was he tired of taking care of him? Sam tried not to think about that. Was Sam possessed by a ghost? He wondered about that, because John was chasing a werewolf right now. But ghosts could pretty much be anywhere. Maybe one of them had figured out just what a little freak he was. Maybe they'd figured out that their family member, their son, their brother, was a monster. How else could he have these visions? He had tried to look up magic, and it did exist. He had found the word seer, but that had not explain how sometimes he could fling stuff.

As far as he knew, abilities like this only came innately to monsters.

He had to wait only four days to figure out why the hatchet was coming at his face. Sam didn't have much warning. One night, he was laying flat on his back, and then there was a noise behind his head and then Dean was running across the room. Thankfully, it wasn't a very big room. He slammed the hatchet down beside Sam's head and onto some white creature's hand. There was a scream from the creature, and Dean dragged it away from Sam's pillow and threw it to the floor where he stomped on it's unhurt hand and then beheaded it. Dean stood breathing heavily in between their beds, looking down. He made sure Sam was okay, disposed of the body, and that was the end of it.

Sammy was so glad that he had found out why the hatchet was coming at his head, but that had planted a dark seed in his mind.

What if Dean DID ever figure out that he was a monster. What if dad ever found out what he was? Would he ever kill him, or order Dean to kill him? Would that hatchet ever be destined for his body? Sam couldn't help it. That day started a little spark of fear of Dean and John. John could without a doubt kill him. He was much bigger, he was an adult. Dean may be closer to his age, but he was already growing muscles that most adults didn't even have. Plus, Sam wrestled with his brother often. Dean could leave Sammy swearing and out of breath and red in the face, and Dean would just be laughing. Sam knew he didn't have a chance of fighting Dean off.

Sammy didn't keep much from Dean. Actually, Dean managed to worm a lot out of him, even if he was grumpy, even if he was sad. Even if he was feeling any emotion ever. He quit talking to Dean about his visions, though. Whenever he woke up wanting to scream, he rolled over and bit a blanket, or pillow, or even his arm. Whatever was nearest. Eventually, Dean thought that the nightmares were over and he quit asking. That was fine with Sammy. He wanted Dean to forget that he was a monster. He wanted to pretend that he was just like Dean, and forget his fear of violence coming from his family.


	2. Fear of Breaking

EAR OF INSTABILITY

DEAN

The first panic attack had been when Sammy was five, Dean was nine, and thank GOD John had been there. Sammy just let it rip right beside him, a big ol' scream. For some five year old lungs, they seemed really powerful. Dean had jerked and rolled away from him, half asleep, and wrapped up in blankets had thumped to the floor.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEUUUAAAAAH!" Sammy screeched, thrashing in his sleep. Dean could hear John thrashing out of his bed, grunting. Dean managed to struggle up out of his own blankets.

"Sammy!" Dean said and leaned up on the bed to look at Sam. Sam wasn't asleep, he was awake and he was staring up at the ceiling as he screamed. Dean looked up quickly, but there was nothing there. Why was Sammy awake, wasn't it just a nightmare? By then, John was sitting on the bed and he was pulling Sam into his lap.

"Sammy, come on, come on, wake up." John said, shaking Sam. Sam's face was red, and it was streaked with tears and snot. The screaming subsided slowly, left with breathless wheezing, "It's okay, Sammy, it was just a nightmare, it's okay, nothing's here."

"Dad, he wasn't sleeping. His eyes were awake." Dean said.

"Oh, it's okay Dean. Sometimes people have waking dreams, or in this case, nightmares." John said, and proceeded to rock little Sam against his chest.

"That boy- he's mad." Sam sobbed once he had gotten his breath back, "Why'd you kill him?" John sighed, setting Sam back down on his back. Sam scooted up to a sit so he could look at him.

"Sammy, that little boy is a ghost. And he hurts people. I have to stop him." John got up, now that the attack was over, and wearily shuffled back to his own bed, "Now go to sleep." Sammy went really quiet, and pulled his blankets back onto himself in a big pile. Dean quietly got up into bed beside Sam, worried. He never remembered dad telling Sammy that the ghost was a boy. It was hard to miss information like that, living in a two roomed place like they did. At that moment, Dean noticed Sammy struggling to cover his legs. Dean leaned over him.

"Lay how you want Sammy." Dean said and picked up the two blankets, shaking them out so they were flat. Sammy laid on his side and Dean dragged the sheet over him, and then the blanket, "There you go." He leaned down and kissed his cheek before laying beside him. As he listened to John's snores, Sammy turned over and reached for him. Dean pushed up his own blanket and let Sammy move over. Sammy curled against him, shivering slightly. Dean patted him gently, wondering if the nightmare was still scaring him. Sammy and Dean both eventually fell asleep. The next morning, Sammy didn't seem bothered, and because of that neither did Dean.

That wasn't the first nightmare to wake up Sammy. Every few weeks, Sammy seemed to wake up screaming. Over that first year, heading towards his sixth birthday, the screams gradually died down to whimpers, whines and crying. John had been really upset at first, with the screaming. He always woke up quickly from his exhausted slumber to go and hold Sammy and stroke his hair. It scared Dean to see his father unsure, and he secretly wished they could take Sammy to the doctor. John never did that, Dean didn't know why. Eventually, John quit getting up. When Sammy's noises became less shrill and noticeable, John would just roll over, or jerk awake and go back to sleep.

Dean couldn't ignore it. Sammy was laying right beside him most nights, always sharing a bed. John always took a bed, or the couch. When he was gone, Dean didn't even sleep in the other bed, he was afraid he'd sleep there and that would be the one night Sammy wouldn't quit breathing or something, or choke. He really didn't know what he'd do if Sammy were choking, but he wanted to be there. Most nights Sammy slept well, but when one of those things hit him, he would lay there and shiver and gasp quietly. Sometimes he'd rock and moan. Every time it took him a long time to settle down and go back to sleep. Most times, he just had to lay and stare at the ceiling until exhaustion took him away.

Then, one day, Sammy wasn't even sleeping. It was when Sammy was 6 and Dean was 10. They were in Florida, he would never forget that. It had been so hot, and this attack had left Sam sweating and gasping, his face red. He was sitting on a stool next to the breakfast nook. All of a sudden Sam dropped his spoon and held his head, whining in high pitched way. Dean was in the bathroom when he heard that noise, and he hurried out, automatically going for the bed, expecting Sam to have been asleep. He stopped, surprised, when he saw Sammy at the table and awake. The nightmares always happened when he was laying down. Dean walked forward slowly, worry creasing his face. Sam fell against the table on his elbows, shoving the bowl of cereal forward. The whine stopped, and he started crying.

Dean rushed forward, patting his back furiously, wishing his father was here. He didn't know what to do. What was scaring Sammy so bad? His dad would have noticed a monster in their place, he was sure. Eventually Sammy stopped and sat up. When Dean saw Sammy's face, his own got really serious. He went to the counter and picked up a towel and came over and wiped the blood trickling from Sammy's nose away. On second thought, he doused the towel in cold water and tried wiping the sweat away too.

"It's okay, Sammy, just go lay down okay?" Dean said. Sammy nodded, his eyes drooping. His nightmares always made him feel bad. He didn't try to argue, he just went to bed as Dean wanted. Dean tucked him in and then went to sit on his own bed to watch TV. He let Sammy mellow out, occasionally glancing over. There was no real danger in the room, but the random glancing was just a habit he picked up. He wanted to keep making sure his brother was still there, that he was still well.

Well, Sammy may not have been well, but at least he was alive. Sammy was staring at the ceiling again, breathing shallowly. Dean could see the sweat pooling under his little body. Dean wished that John would hurry up on this one. This place wasn't good for Sam.

Go a few years ahead, and Sammy hadn't really had woken them up at night screaming for the past two years or so. Dean thought that he had just gotten older and managed to keep them under wraps. After all, Dean had had his own set of nightmares. He just hadn't been vocal about it like Sam had. Actually, he had done just the opposite. He had barely spoken for a long time after his mother had been murdered. A lot of changed through those times, and he hadn't really known how to deal with it, so he had shut down.

After a time, he had learned how to deal with it. How to remain useful, how to keep the emotions down, how to keep himself happy. He guessed that Sammy was just learning how to push it down. Dean didn't know the word repress at that age, but he would have used it to describe what he did daily. Well, apparently Sam didn't have the procedure down pat, because he started screaming so loud that neighboring motel goers had come knocking on the door. He'd hurriedly stuffed something over Sam's face before going to the door and dealing with them. The random fright had freaked him out, so he ended up arguing with the man and wouldn't let him in. That prompted the man to go get the night worker, who ended up coming up to the door with a bored expression on his face.

By that time, Sam had gotten enough control so he had stood up. Sam had explained that he had really serious pain, and they were on their way to a specialist doctor in California. The guy had shrugged it off since there was no blood, or broken furniture and had left them in peace. When Dean closed the door and had turned around, Sam was standing in front of him with a really clammy face and blood trickling down his nose.

"Is dad okay?" Sam had said. Dean had gotten chills all over his body hearing that. Sam had mostly quiet asking about dad. Dean tried to call. It had taken a dozen times, and a few hours, but John had called back. Yes, everything was fine. Yes, the hunt was taking awhile, but John thought he could finish within a few days. They wouldn't be at the Serena Motel much longer. Dean clicked the cell phone shut and looked at Sam.

"Yeah, he's fine kid." Dean said.  
"...Then he won't be." Sam said and flopped onto the bed, face down. Chills again for Dean as he slowly laid back down on his bed, brooding. So, the nightmares were about dad getting hurt? Dean fell asleep thinking about it, not really able to figure any of it out. Two days later, there was a phone call from the nearby Rose Hospital. The boys had walked in on their father on a bed with an oxygen thing shoved up his nostrils.

Dean was frantic, asking all sorts of questions. Sam sat quietly on a chair in the corner staring at John, not really looking surprised. After two days in the hospital, John left against orders, and then they were going onto the next state. Dean drove to North Dakota by himself, since his father was injured and slept most of the time in the back seat. Dean didn't inquire about Sam's past nightmare, and Sam didn't say anything more.

One night wasn't like the others. Sam didn't wake up screaming, he woke up sobbing. Dean was awoken by Sam holding him sobbing. When Dean tried to ask him what as wrong, all Sam could do was shake his head and squeeze him tighter. Dean held him as he scooted up to a sit.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Dean, don't go to the mill house. Don't go. Please don't go." Sam begged. Dean spent most of the night reassuring Sam that everything was going to be okay, even though Dean really couldn't know that. He tried to promise him that he would come back to take care of Sam. He tried to promise that dad was also there. He tried all sorts of things to get him to calm down. Sam would just stare at him and ask him again to not go. There was an unwavering something or other in those eyes that made Dean pause.

"Alright Sammy, I won't." Dean promised. He kept the promise, even though it had caused him a lot of problems. When John had come he had crashed for a few hours. Dean had vacated his bed for John and had come to Sam's bed and laid beside him. His heart had been pounding as he silently hoped that his father wouldn't ask him to come.

That was a stupid request. As soon as John woke up about four hours after he crashed, he started bagging stuff up for their hunt when Dean told him that Sammy needed him to stay here. He didn't outright tell him no, he was too afraid to. John had stopped packing and turned around to stare at Dean like he had sprouted a second head.

"I told you to get packing."

"...I told you, Sammy needs me here. He's not feeling so hot."

"Dean, this is more important than something like a cold." John had said. Dean had let out a long, unsteady sigh as he stood up and looked his father in the eye.

"I'm not going." When Dean had said that, and argument had taken off. Dean didn't remember much about it, besides John saying he didn't need his help and taking off. But, Dean was there where Sammy wanted him.

"Better?" Dean said, turned to face Sam. Sam nodded frantically, the first smile he'd seen on his face for a while brightening him up, "Good. Well. Sit down. I actually got some salsa for our nachos." They ended up pigging out the rest of the night, Dean wondering what would have happened to him had he gone with John. Later that night, John came back. Of course he was still angry at Dean, and they argued a little before John fell asleep again. Dean cared, but the fact that Sam was leaning against him and hugging him tightly made him feel better about his decisions.

That's how the years mostly went from then on. Sam mostly quiet, but occasionally freaking out. Nothing like that night where Sam had woken him up clinging to him.

Apparently, Sammy thought that he thought that the nightmares were over with. That was stupid. Just because Sam had grown more quiet over the years didn't mean he didn't see the signs in Sam. Rustling of sheets in the middle of the night, really crumpled blankets in the day. Sometimes he let out shaky sighs, or small sobs in the night. He often woke up not hungry, with dark circles under his eyes. On the bad nights, bloody towels would still be in the bathroom. Dean had a little laugh at that, even though he knew it meant Sam's nose had bled again. Sammy could hide everything he wanted, but apparently he felt too bad to throw away the hotel's towels. Sam never screamed anymore though. Well, once and awhile, but it was rare.

Dean did know that every time Sammy woke up screaming, he or John wound up with something pretty bad. Not just a gash or a broken bone. Like, a skull fracture, or a something pinched in the spine. One time, John had been in the hospital for a week. Another, Dean had lost feelings in his legs for a couple days. Thankfully, that had ended much to Dean's thanks. Something about dehydration and pinched nerves. Once or twice, Bobby had been the one cut up, and a few people they knew on a several occasions. A few times, Sammy had quietly asked John or him to check on somebody "suspicious". Usually Sam's tips helped in some way, either through finding a victim or a killer, or some kind of evidence.

Dean could count six scars that he had, all precluded by a night where Sammy woke up screaming. He also knew that not every bad accident had Sammy up screaming, but a scream was never not accompanied by some kind of injury.

To Dean, Sam was learning how to control his nightmares to make sure they didn't come true. He studied more about monsters, and he started trying to fight back. He started carrying bigger weapons, and he didn't cry anymore. Dean was proud of him, proud that he didn't cower away from it like he used to, or lay in bed crying. Dean knew that it was unfair to ask it of him, Sam was just a kid. But so was Dean, and Dean was out fighting with their father. With Sammy standing on his own two feet, he found he didn't have to worry as much about his physical safety.

He still had some reservations about all this, but there wasn't much he could do about it. All he could do was keep striving forward and make sure Sammy followed his path so he wouldn't get lost. Since Sam was becoming more capable, there was one new fear that had cropped up in his mind. Dean was pushing Sam to be like himself. He had to, since he was the one raising Sam most of the time. No one else was gonna do it for him. He could've just left Sam somewhere alone, and Sam wouldn't have been able to find them. But his father would've been furious. More than that, though, Dean wouldn't have been able to live with himself. So, he kept trying to raise him as best he could.

He always pushed him. Dean was really deep down afraid that one day, he would push to hard. He thought his own way was best, which is why he lived by it. But, Sammy was another creature altogether. They loved each other fiercely. They knew facts about each other that no one else knew on this earth, past or present. Probably not that anyone in their future would even know. They could finish each others sentences a lot, and even guess what the other was going to say before they said it. But even for all that, Dean realized that Sammy was different from him. He was more emotional, more angry at their father. He cared too deeply, and guilt stayed with him longer than it should have. Dean chalked everything he did to saving either himself, his family, or civilians. He could live with that, and for some reason, Sam just couldn't always do that.

Dean was terrified of breaking Sam. Sam had already gone through a lot. What if Dean was the last push? What if he couldn't handle the hunter life? He'd seen some hunters end up in asylums, racked with some emotion they couldn't shake. It scared him on those nights when he saw Sammy sitting up late into the night, unable to sleep, with guilt, or anger, or sadness sitting in his eyes. He hated every night he saw it in his eyes. But, he couldn't do anything about it. Sammy was a kid, and Dean was a kid, and they were just both following their dad. They had to do the best they could, and hope to not get to broken up in the process.


End file.
